Alive
by Siriuslyfun19212
Summary: “We are not putting him down like a sick puppy, werewolf or not!” the other voice shouted, surreptitiousness forgotten. “He is our son!”


**Disclaimer:** This story and all things associated with the original story (such as characters and locations) is a derivative based on the "Harry Potter" series by J.K. Rowling, with respect to Warner Bros. Company and other official affiliates. No monetary gain is intended. The situations are purely fictional unless otherwise noted. I only own the direct text of the story you may read here, unless otherwise noted.

This story is protected by a Creative Commons License (by-nc-nd 3.0 US). See profile for additional details.

**Author's Note:** The story is supposed to have an off-hand, almost cold mood to it. It takes an omniscient approach, with respect to Remus Lupin's POV. As always, please read and review!

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**"Alive"  
by Siriuslyfun19212**

&&**  
**

_They come to set you free__  
Beneath the rising moon_

_- "Don't Do Sadness", __from Spring Awakening by Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater  
_

&&

He would have slept longer if it weren't for the steady, loud, rhythmic _pings_ radiating throughout the room. They were certainly louder than need be, whatever they were.

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Steady and rhythmic. Loud.

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Pulsating.

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Nerve-wracking. Temperamental. _Beastly._

He opened his eyes a sliver of a fraction and looked around him, breathing it in. He was in a bed. He felt restrained. Silver disks were on his wrists, monitoring his pulse, his life. Constricting bands held firmly around his forearm, measuring his blood pressure. Loose ropes tied him to the bed—even if he tried to undo them, they became knotted and gnarled, completely unwilling to give, as if secured by magic.

He used his eyes to examine himself. Shocking, really. He looked _mangled_. He _felt_ mangled. He felt sickly. He wanted to throw up. He lurched forward, looking for something near enough. He found it, a small bucket, perfect. It immediately emptied itself, returning to its previous, clean state. He was in a white tartan _dress_. Was it really a dress? How odd. A large _M_ bore the front of it. _M_. _M_. Where had he seen that emblem before? _M… M… _Mango. Mushroom. Millimeter. _Mungo_. St. Mungo's. The hospital? He shifted his legs to see what he could, trying to inch the dress up further. It revealed a long gash, from thigh to mid-calf. Bruised-, torn-, insidious-looking skin. The same could be said for his arms. Both held different degrees of cuts, cuts worthy of scar-tissue.

His young, five-year-old brain worked. He'd heard of St. Mungo's, in passing. Wasn't it the wizard hospital? The one where they just swished their wands and all was right again? Then _why_ were these _cuts_ still there?

He heard voices outside his room, hushed, as if clandestine.

"A normal life is imperceptible. Not in this state."

_"He is our son,"_ a familiar voice, male, hissed. "Bitten or not."

Bitten? These gashes didn't look like bite marks. They looked like tears, rips, overtly encompassing his entire body, it seemed.

"Euthanasia is the best option. If he were to live—"

_"We are not putting him down like a sick puppy!"_ the other voice shouted, surreptitiousness forgotten. _"He is our son!"_

A sigh from his counterpart. "Ministry regulations state—"

"Ministry regulations be damned! He is a child!"

The other continued. "They regulate that anyone under the age of ten either be euthanized or transform monthly within a guarded ministry holding cell. I've seen this before—it's more trouble than it's worth."

A hush.

"How can you possibly say that? More _trouble_ that it's _worth_? He is a five-year-old boy. He did not _ask_ for this. He deserves a chance to _live_! You're a Healer! Life should be _important_ to you!"

Remus could not see either physiognomies, but he was sure both were defiant, maybe one of them was giving in….

"I can see that I will not sway you."

"You are _damn_ right." The voice broke. "That is _my boy_ in there. My _boy_! I will do what I can to protect him. To keep him safe."

A sigh. "Very well."

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

It continued.

&&

A week more in St. Mungo's. A week under the careful eye of Healers, under the guard of his parents, under the watch and inspection of the Ministry. He remembered faintly a conversation the other day, between an unfamiliar person and a regular to his room, the one that documented the radiations of the silver disks on his wrists.

"Is he showing any signs of abnormality?"

"Other than the lycanthropy?"

Remus imagined a look.

"Well, other than the gashes—which are completely irremovable, as we'd guessed—he shows typical results of a bite."

The scribbling of a quill. "Any advanced aggression?"

"Not humanly."

"Was the option of euthanasia proposed?"

"Several times. The genitors seemed adamantly unwilling."

"What about the vitals? How are they being monitored?"

"Do you see this strap? It measures blood pressure, constantly, and will immediately alert us of any direct changes. These spindles evaluate perspiration, and these spindles evaluate respiration. These silver disks—"

"_Silver_ disks?"

"He hasn't shown signs of hypersensitivity. Not yet, at least. Either way, they measure pulse rate. They're the typical system used for our patients. If need be, we have bronze and copper disks."

"I see. Well, you'll make us aware of any changes?"

"Of course."

And it went on much like this.

&&

A certain unhinged terror overcame him as he sat there one day, unmoving.  
It began gradually, first only annoying. It transcended this state within minutes, slowly eating away at his skin, burning him. He felt the need to scratch at his wrists, to put something cool on them.

He called out, "Dad? Mum?"

No one heard him.

He fumbled with his knees, trying to get them to reach his wrists. He flailed his arms against the side of the bed, hoping it would help. His breathing came quicker as the pain grew.

He tried again. "Daddy! Mummy! Anyone?"

Remus felt desperate. What was wrong with him? He felt something stinging his eyes, something he couldn't control. He bit back tears to focus on the pain steadily growing in his arms.

"Ow!" he screamed. "It hurts!"

He started hitting his arms against the sides of the bed painfully, hoping this would hurt more than the burning, deter it. "Help!" he screamed, terrorized. "Please! OW!"

He arched his back and thrashed about, entangling the sheets around his body. He screamed louder, hoping somebody would come in, anybody.

The door was pushed open hesitantly—no doubt an unnecessarily terrified Healer—to see what was wrong. He called something behind him, undoubtedly for more help.

"I'm sorry!" Remus screamed, not even sure what he was apologizing for. "I'll never do it again, never, just stop the burning! Please!"

The same hasty Healer Wizard scurried in, assessing the problem. From the tears on his face, from the bruises growing on his arms, from the sheets trapping the small boy, he figured out the problem.

He said something to a wizard next to him, something he had to repeat to overcome the boy's yelling.

Finally, he stepped closer to Remus and, with the help of the other man, grabbed each arm and ripped off the silver pulse measurement disks. Remus immediately fell back onto the bed, exhausted. He could hardly breathe.

There was silence for a few short seconds, before the first man said, "It shows a new symptom of silver hypersensitivity."

The other nodded. "Duly noted."

Remus fell into a fitful sleep, twitching at random intervals as his body adjusted.

&&

One day, his Mother came in when she thought he was sleeping. She sat down at his bedside and took his hand in hers. She stifled a cry.

"It's really quite terrible, everything that's happened."

Remus breathed, slightly irregularly for a sleeping person. She paid no mind.

"I can't help but feel like all of this is my fault," she murmured, voice breaking. "I should never have let you go playing outside. I should have watched you more closely. I shouldn't have—so many things." She gave a humorless laugh. "But I suppose I can't take any of it back now, can I? You're a—you're a _werewolf_. Cursed for the rest of your life. You won't be able to go to school. You'll never be able to get married or have children. Nobody will want to be your friend, because they won't understand _anything_."

She choked back a sob.

"All of this is my fault."

Remus continued to say nothing. His breathing stopped momentarily, caught in his throat. What does a five-year-old say to his Mother when he has no idea what is going on?

She began to stroke his cheek. "These scars on your legs and arms will never go away. You're permanently _maimed_," she spat out bitterly. "And no ounce of magic will reverse that. What can I possibly do to make it up to you?"

They sat in their silence, for how long he was unsure. She curled his light-colored hair in her fingers, traced the various bruises and cuts and scars.

"I love you, my little Remus. You're so innocent, so young. You don't deserve any of this."

More silence. Suddenly she pulled away—Remus subconsciously leaned into her touch as she removed herself. "You don't deserve this."

And maybe he didn't.

&&

"You really are making the right decision, Mrs. Lupin," the Healer said outside his bedroom door. "His life—too painful. The conditions are devastating. He would never be happy. Never."

"I hope you're right," his Mother said. "I messaged him, my husband. I imagine he'll just be getting the owl, now. He had to go home, I forced him. He hasn't slept since it—since it happened. I just hope that he'll forgive me, in time."

"Of course, miss."

The two voices got closer to where he was sleeping. Remus opened his eyes and stared. There stood his Mother, distraught. Her hair was untidy and uncombed, eyes bloodshot. The Healer looked unaffected.

"Once an appropriate Euthamagi Wizard comes, we should be able to do this very quickly and timely."

Neither of them had noticed Remus's awake form. The Healer was scribbling something down nonchalantly, and his Mother was looking anywhere but at her doomed son.

"Will it—will it _hurt_?" she asked nervously.

The Healer shrugged. "It should be painless."

Remus felt like he needed to say something. This seemed like the right thing to do. They were planning to do something very, very bad and he didn't like the way things sounded.

"How long will it take?"

"Well, werewolf euthanasia varies depending on the age and size of the werewolf. The boy is quite young and small—he should be gone within seconds."

His Mother whimpered.

"Mum?" Remus whispered, forcing her attention.

Her eyes snapped to him and she trembled. She took his hand again. "Some things are too terrible to talk about. Some things are too… too painful to endure."

Remus blinked uncomprehendingly. She smiled at him encouragingly.

"I am doing what I think is best for you. It is… difficult for you to understand, I know it must be. But… things will be much easier for you this way."

Suddenly, a tall man came in with a metal box, a suitcase, and propped it open on a table nearby. He waved his wand, and a chart appeared. He read from it, bored.

"'Remus John Lupin, age five. Born 10 March 1960. Bitten by a werewolf 14 June 1965 and transformed. Case resolution: termination by use of euthanasia, to be administered on 22 June 1965.' Is this all correct?"

Remus's Mother burst into tears and nodded. "Yes, yes it is."

Remus had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Mum?" he said again. "Mummy?" More desperate this time.

His Mother grabbed his hand one last time and gave it a cheerful squeeze. "Everything will be alright, Remmy. Everything. Mummy loves you, she always has."

"Mummy, don't let anything happen to me," he pleaded. "I don't like that man. Please, Mummy!"

She let go and pulled herself away in despair. "It's all for the best."

"Mummy!"

The man came closer to him. Remus could see past him, could see the box he'd brought up. Various needles and tubes stuck out. The man, however, held a phial of something yellow, dull, and menacing. He looked at a watch. "Time: Twelve-forty-three PM."

"Mum, don't let him do it!"

"Termination by use of concentrated Wolfsbane, lethal, begin."

"NO!"

Remus looked for the source of the voice and saw his Father burst into the room. Magic forgotten, he leaped onto the Euthamagi, knocking him to the floor.

"John!" his Mother screamed.

"What are you doing, you bloody bastard?! What are you doing?! That's my _son_! You don't _touch_ my _son!_"

"John, get off him!"

He swung around. "And you!" he said, pointing to his wife. "How could you do this? We talked about this! He deserves a life! He deserves a _life_ to _live!_"

"I couldn't watch it, John! I couldn't just—just _let him_—I couldn't _do_ it—" she fell to the floor in strangled cries, her husband falling with her.

"We owe him that much! We owe him a choice! We cannot take that away from him!"

Remus's Mother nodded weakly. "I'm so sorry."

John Lupin held his wife, muttering the same things back to her, pride disregarded in terms of crying.

The Euthamagi and Healer Wizard stared despondently, unaware of what to do. The Healer gathered himself up, saying, "I have every right to report you, Mr. Lupin. That was _completely_ inappropriate."

The other man, phial shattered on the floor, cocked his lips into a grimace. "Termination of Remus John Lupin postponed until further no—"

Remus's Father leaped up, snarling. "Termination cancelled, you inhumane fools," he spat. "Permanently."

Both men narrowed their eyes. The Euthamagi snarled right back. "Very well. _Live_ with the monster, for all I care." He stormed out, Healer quickly behind him.

Remus lied there unblinkingly, staring at the ceiling. He felt a certain uncomfortable sting, a twinge of pain, at the place where his gashes were. He did not listen to the sounds of his parents consoling each other. He did not listen to the aggravating _beep!_ of the pulse radiation. He simply lied there, staring at the ceiling, breathing irregularly as his heartbeat slowed back to normal. He wondered vaguely what came next.


End file.
